Lyla Returns
by FlyersGirl1
Summary: Post-Season 5; approx 2.5 years later. Lyla returns. Lyla-Tim. Appearances by Tyra, Matt, Julie, Buddy G., Billy.
1. Chapter 1

Tim Riggins is looking down at the floor; he can hear the words, but can't quite comprehend them. Or maybe he doesn't want to. "She's coming home, and I don't want there to be any misunderstandings here, son, you get me?" Buddy Garrity's voice is harsh. Threatening. There's something else in Buddy's voice that Tim can barely detect. A note of . . . fear, maybe?

Tim nods. He doesn't look up as he shifts in his chair. His eyes fixate on a rough spot on the floor of Buddy's bar - Buddy's pride and joy, this place.

"Tim - I need you to really hear me on this, son. Do we understand each other?"

Tim finally looks up, meeting Buddy's eye. "Yes sir," he says slowly. "Lyla is coming home. You want me to stay away from her."

"Now, Tim," Buddy forces a smile, "I didn't - I didn't mean to suggest any such thing. All's I'm saying is that she's - it's been four years, Tim - she's a college graduate now, you know? I'm so proud of her," his voice trails off. Tim looks down at the floor again. It's left unsaid that Tim is decidedly not a college graduate.

"Lyla's changed, Tim," Buddy continues. "She's a woman now. She's moving to Austin in the fall. Got a real great job there. And she has a boyfriend. They're serious, Tim; real serious. I just want you to understand that."

"I do, sir," Tim nods. He's rises. "Do you need anything else from me tonight, Mr. Garrity?"

"No," Buddy sighs, as he gets up from his chair, too. "I just - I don't want there to be any misunderstandings between us, Tim," he pauses. "About Lyla. I just want everything to be clear here. Real clear."

"Things are clear, Mr. Garrity," Tim responds flatly. "Real clear."


	2. Chapter 2

Tim swirls his beer bottle in his hand and leans back as Matt Saracen regales the group with tales of his internship. He doesn't have to work tonight, but Matt wanted to meet here anyway. Buddy Garrity's. Tim just can't get away.

"I mean, seriously, the guy is batshit, here, we're not talking about sort of, kind of crazy. Just complete batshit." Matt is laughing as he gesticulates wildly. "'Get me that empty paper towel role, it'll look great - I mean great - with this dog shit.'" Matt shakes his head and takes a swig of beer. "Crazy shit."

"So what's next?" Tyra Collette asks, raising her beer and taking a sip.

Matt shakes his head. "I'm gonna be his assistant - at least for a while, anyway, while I get my bearings. If he doesn't kill me to use me for one of his art pieces, that is," he grins. "Hey, Jules - call the police if I don't come home one night. Seriously," he laughs. "Don't wait."

Julie is smiling as she shakes her head. "Whatever," she pokes Matt's side. "He complaints, but he is having the time of his life there."

Tyra smiles warmly at Julie and Matt. She sighs and raises her beer. "I can't believe it - we're done, y'all. Done."

"I'm not," Julie pipes up. "One more year."

"Okay," Tyra laughs, "So Matt and I are done. Tyra Collette is a college graduate, thank you very much."

"Here here," Matt raises his beer. Tim and Julie join in.

"Congrats," Julie smiles at Tyra as she squeezes Matt's hand. "So have you decided whether you're going to stick around here . . . or move . . . maybe some place like Chicago?" she asks hopefully.

Tim's face remains impassive as Tyra glances at him. "I'm sticking around here," she replies, "for a while, at least," she adds, looking back at Julie. "I applied for a guidance counselor gig, actually," she says slowly. "At Dillon High."

"Like my mom?" Julie asks. Half question, half statement. "That's awesome, Tyra. I can't wait to tell her. She'll be so proud of you."

Tyra smiles. "Thanks, Jules. I haven't heard for sure yet, but the vice-principal tells me it's looking good, anyways," she shrugs.

"Well, my mom will probably call to talk your ear off about all of the programs that she tried to implement, couldn't get implemented, and will want you to pick up on," Julie rolls hers eyes and smiles.

Tyra laughs. "I'd like that a lot, actually. I just wish your mom was still around. I wish y'all were still around," she leans back against her chair, looking over at Tim, who remains silent. She pokes him. "Hey, you, are you even listening?"

"Yeah, absolutely," Tim grins. "Absolutely. Guidance counselor, Dillon, Mrs. Taylor, got it." His eyes scan the bar. Anxiously. Since his conversation with Buddy, he's been waiting. He doesn't know why, or how he'll react, how he'll feel, how she'll look at him. He's just . . . waiting.

When she walks into the bar - her father's bar - he sees her almost immediately. His heart stops. For a moment, he feels it actually stop. And then it starts beating like crazy. Like he's finished a marathon - or ten. She's standing there, in front of him, looking around - for her father, presumably. She doesn't see Tim. He can't stop staring at her. No one else sees. No one else knows.

Tim can hear them talking - to him? - Tyra is saying something to him, maybe? But he can't hear her anymore. All he hears is his heart beating - loudly, rapidly.

Lyla looks . . . the same. The way he remembers her. The way she looked when she left him on that gray day at the Dillon bus depot almost four years ago. When he held her close and kissed her on the forehead and said goodbye. When she broke his heart.

She's clearly grown up a bit; she looks mature, put together the way you'd imagine a newly-minted college graduate with a fancy Austin job being put together. Her hair - the ponytail is gone. Her hair is shorter now. Shoulder-length. She's still beautiful. Strong. Confident. She's still . . . she's still Lyla. His Lyla. Except she's not. Hasn't been in four years.

She's still scanning the room, wading through unfamiliar faces. When she sees him, she freezes. The smile disappears. She raises an arm to her hair - unconsciously? - and, all of the sudden, she seems nervous, not sure at all of herself. She gives him a half-wave, a self-conscious wave. She's scared. She's actually scared. Of him. How could that be?

Tim rises from his chair, his eyes still locked onto hers. She doesn't move; she seems rooted, cemented in that spot. He hears Tyra calling his name, tugging at his arm. He doesn't respond. He can't. He's walking toward her now. Four years. Four fucking years.

Tim reaches her and stops. They stand there looking at each other for a minute. "Hi," he hears himself speak. Quietly. Haltingly. Like he's someone else.

"Hi," Lyla replies. Softly. Nervously. She looks down at the floor, then back up at him.

Then his arms are around her. He doesn't even remember doing it; he's just there, holding her, feeling her arms wrapped tightly around him. She feels warm, comfortable, familiar. They stand like that - it feels like years - before she finally disengages.

Lyla smooths her shirt. Nervously, Tim observes. She smiles at him. Shyly. "Hi," she says again. First, this time.

"Hi," he replies. "Welcome home," he says.

"Thanks," she smiles, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear. "I was - uh - I was - it's been so long."

"Almost four years."

"Yeah. I can't -" Lyla is shaking her head. "I can't believe it. I never thought it would be . . . so long. I just - I don't know," she says finally. She looks up at him.

"You look good," he says.

"Thanks," she smiles, looking down briefly, before returning his gaze. "So do you. I - um, didn't know - didn't know what to expect. I mean. It's been . . . so long," she falters as she realizes she's repeating herself.

"I've missed you, Lyla," Tim says. Honestly. Plainly. He has so much to tell her - years worth of things to tell her - but he can't think of anything right now. Except this. That this woman standing in front of him once meant everything to him. That he loved her insanely. That letting her go was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

Lyla looks away from Tim again, clearly unsure of how to respond - how she should respond. She sees the others at Tim's table - Matt, Julie, Tyra. They're all staring at her. At Tim. Suddenly she's aware of how out in the open they are, how vulnerable she is to . . . everyone. She looks back at Tim.

"I need to find my dad," she says suddenly. Quickly.

"Wait," Tim takes her arm as she tries to step by him. "Lyla - you can't - we need to -"

"I can't," she interrupts him. "We - I - I can't. I'm - I brought someone home with me. He's - he's coming by here," she can't look at him. "Soon. He's - I'm - we're - he's from Vanderbilt. We met. There. At Vanderbilt." She's lost the ability to speak in full sentences.

Tim is silent.

"It's been a long time, Tim," Lyla says finally. "I - so much has changed. I've changed. . . . You're . . . you're with Tyra now?" she tries to keep the emotion out of her voice as she glances back at his table. Tyra looks to be in deep conversation with Julie, as she glances back and forth anxiously between Tim and Lyla.

"No. Yeah. I mean - we're seeing each other, I guess. We're not - there's not anything . . . We haven't - we're just - sort of seeing each other."

"I see," Lyla nods. Slowly.

"Where is he?"

"Who?"

"The boyfriend."

"He's - he's here. He was - dropped me off - he was stopping by a friend's."

"Lyla!" Buddy Garrity's voice booms across the bar. He has spotted her, and he's coming over at lightning speed.

"Dad, hi," Lyla smiles as Buddy engulfs her in a massive embrace.

"Honey, is is -so- good to see you; god, I've missed you, baby," he gives her his warmest smile before shooting daggers at Tim.

"Dad, I saw you two weeks ago at graduation," Lyla raises an eyebrow, laughing.

"I know, honey, but your mother was there, and Bob," Buddy spits out the name of his ex-wife's new husband. "And the kids, and - well, just everyone, honey. We didn't get to spend any quality time together."

"Okay, Dad . . . well, I'm home. I just - can you give me a few minutes here?"

"Where's Bryan, honey?"

"Coming, Dad; he's coming. Can you . . . please?" she asks plaintively.

Buddy shoots another quick glare toward Tim before smiling at Lyla. "Sure, honey, sure; I'll be right back there," he gestures toward the bar, "whenever you're ready, you just - you just mosey on back. I have so much to show you. You haven't seen any of this yet, honey; there's so much to do, you know?"

"I know, Dad; I'll be with you in a few, okay?"

"Sure," Buddy nods. "Sure. Okay, right back there, okay?" he reminds her, before heading back toward the bar.

She shakes her head as he departs. "Sorry," she looks back at Tim. "You know how he is."

"Are you going to Austin?" Tim asks.

"Yes," Lyla swallows and nods. "How do you know?"

"Your dad."

"I - I was going to come by and -" she's interrupted by The Boyfriend, who approaches her from behind and wraps his arms around her.

"Hey," he kisses her cheek.

"Hi," she jumps, startled by his arrival. "Hi," she stammers and glances back towards him. "What - um, hi," she says again. Guiltily. As if she's been caught.

"I'm Bryan," he steps out from behind Lyla and grins at Tim, extending a hand. He's relaxed. Confident. Football player, Tim guesses. Of course. Clearly a douchebag.

"Tim," Tim returns the handshake. Unenthusiastically.

"Right," Lyla says. "Bryan, this is Tim. Tim Riggins. Tim - Bryan." She's clearly uncomfortable.

"Tim Riggins," Bryan smiles in recognition. "Nice to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you, man. From Lyla here, and from my buddy Rick - Rick Carlson - we played together at Vandy. Y'all played together, right? Back in Dillon? He says you were an animal - on and off the field," he winks. "Lyla here has nicer things to say, though," he cocks his head toward his girlfriend. Lyla is looking down at the floor.

Tim doesn't crack a smile. "I should go," he says. He gestures back to the table where Tyra, Matt, and Julie are studiously trying to avoid staring. Tim watches Bryan put an arm back around Lyla, pulling her close to him. Kissing her forehead. So fucking casual. Like she belongs to him. Tim can't watch this anymore.

"Nice meeting you, Bryan," he mutters. "Good to see you again, Lyla," he looks at her - their eyes lock again for a brief moment; there is so much he wants to say to her - before he turns around and heads back to his table.

He sits down wordlessly. Everyone is silent, waiting for him to say something. He doesn't. Finally, Tyra speaks. "What the fuck, Tim?" she asks. Annoyed. "What was that?"

Tim looks at her blankly. "Lyla's home," he replies.

"Yeah, so I see," Tyra responds. "Why are you being so . . . weird right now?"

Tim shakes his head, trying to snap himself out of the suddenly very shitty mood he's in. He tries not to watch as, across the bar, Buddy Garrity throws his arms around Bryan the Boyfriend. Like a son, Tim thinks bitterly.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tyra," he says. Calmly.

"Really? Really, Tim? You don't?"

"Hey, so I was just telling Tyra here about the new place we're gonna be renting," Matt interrupts, clearly trying to salvage the evening.

"Yeah?" Tim looks up at Matt, grateful for the save.

"Yeah, it's, uh, it's in Wicker Park. Which is the cool area of town."

"Not if you're livin' there," Tim says. Lightly.

"I like to think I bring a good amount of cool to the table, actually," Matt laughs.

"And if he doesn't bring cool, he definitely brings empty paper towel rolls," Julie adds.

Tim smiles. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tyra watching him with pursed lips. She is clearly not going to let this Lyla thing slide. Which doesn't seem to really matter now that it appears that Lyla - and Bryan the Douchebag - are approaching their table.

"Hi," Lyla says tentatively. She's looking at Matt and Julie and Tyra. She's clearly uncomfortable. "I just, um, wanted to come by and say hello."

"Hi Lyla," Matt smiles. Warmly. "Great to see you. Congratulations are in order, right?"

"What?" Lyla asks.

"Graduation . . . .?" Matt replies. Half-question, half-statement.

"Right, oh yeah. Of course. Yes," Lyla smiles. She relaxes slightly. "You, too, right? Long time in coming," she laughs. Nervously. "This is Bryan, by the way. Sorry. Bryan - Matt, Julie, Tyra, and Tim, of course."

"Hi Bryan," Matt says. Kindly. He reaches out a hand to Bryan; they shake.

"Hi," Bryan replies with an easy smile. "Nice to meet y'all. Dillon High?" he asks.

"Yeah," Julie replies. "And you're from Vanderbilt?"

"Right, yeah," Bryan responds. "Lyla's boyfriend."

"How nice," Tyra smiles sweetly. For the first time since Lyla and Bryan stopped by the table. "Well, Bryan, it is really nice - so nice to meet any boyfriend of Lyla's."

Tyra glances over at Tim, who is looking decidedly less friendly. He stays silent.

"Thanks," Bryan replies.

"How long are y'all in town for?" Tyra asks. Sweetly.

"I'm here for the week," Bryan smiles. "To hang with Lyla. She's here for the summer, though, right babe?" he puts an arm around her. "And then we're off to Austin."

"Right," Lyla replies. Quietly. Uncomfortably.

"Well, that's just so nice," Tyra continues. "I just graduated from UT. Highly recommend the city. Y'all will love it there, I'm sure," she smiles.

"Good to know," Bryan smiles at her. He seems completely unaware of the tension at the table. "We've spent some time there already - doing the job-hunting thing - and I think we'll really love it there."

Tyra smiles at him. Flirtatiously. "What are you gonna be doin', Bryan?"

"Working for a hedge fund. My dad's connections," he smiles sheepishly, shrugging. "He's - uh - he runs a hedge fund out of Nashville."

"Nashville - where you're from?" Tyra asks sweetly. "Of course - Vandy - Nashville," she laughs.

"Right," Bryan grins at her.

"What about you, Lyla?" Matt interjects. "What are you gonna be doing?"

"Um, working for the governor, actually," she says quietly. "I mean, his chief-of-staff. . . I, um, did an internship there last summer, and . . . well, it worked it out, I guess."

"You were in Texas last summer?" Tim asks. Flatly.

Lyla looks back at Tim. She's shifting her weight from side to side, clearly uncomfortable. "Yeah," she says. "For a - for a little while, I mean - just - a couple months."

"A couple months," Tim repeats. "In Austin."

"Yeah - if I could've come back home, I would've - there was just no - no time, so I -"

"We understand," Tyra interrupts her, smiling sweetly. "Hard to remember lil' old Dillon when y'all are doin' such big-time stuff."

"No," Lyla shakes her head. "That's not - that's not - we should go," Lyla stammers, turning back to Bryan.

"Sure," Bryan nods. "Nice meeting everyone. See you around."

"Right," Lyla adds. "Good to see you all. Take care," she nods quickly, allowing herself to be guided away from the table by Bryan.

Tim stares at the table. He doesn't look up to watch her go. He can't. He feels Tyra's eyes on him, everyone's eyes on him.

"Tim," she's talking to him. "Hey."

"Yeah?" he says. Dully.

"Let's get out of here, okay?" Tyra puts a hand on his arm.

"Okay," he responds. He pulls out his wallet.

Matt waves him away. "No, no - none of that. This night is on me, on us, okay?" he smiles at Tim. It's a smile of concern.

Tim nods; he's barely paying attention. "Thanks," he mutters. "I'll get the next one." He rises. Waiting for Tyra. He sees Tyra and Julie exchange glances.

"Call me," Julie calls to Tyra as she and Tim head to the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Tim is silent as he starts the engine; he puts his truck in drive and peels out of the parking lot. He feels Tyra watching him; he wishes he were alone. Then he could slam his fist into his seat, throw a beer bottle against a wall, drink away his anger.

They drive in silence for several minutes. Finally, Tyra speaks. "Are you okay?" she asks. Almost timidly. Like she doesn't want the real answer. She doesn't have to worry. He's not going to be honest with her.

"I'm fine," he says.

Tyra nods slowly. "Okay. Because it doesn't really seem like you're fine. Like you were fine back there. You barely acknowledged . . . her," Tyra clearly can't bring herself to use -her- name, as it were.

Tim doesn't reply. He's turning onto a deserted road, heading to Tyra's house.

"Can you believe her?" Tyra continues. "She thinks she's so . . . high and mighty. Hedge fund boyfriend, job for the Governor," she emphasizes the last word sarcastically.

Tim remains silent.

"I mean, he seemed okay - her boyfriend," she glances at Tim to gauge his reaction to that word. He doesn't react. "He was nice - good looking guy," she adds. "Seems like she really has her life wrapped up all nice, in one pretty bow. Doesn't she."

Tim doesn't respond.

Tyra sighs. "I mean - don't you have anything to say, Tim? Your ex-girlfriend just walked into Buddy Garrity's bar. The one you haven't seen in years. One might think you'd have something to say."

"I don't." Tim replies. Shortly.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes. Finally, Tyra breaks the silence. "Where are we going, Tim?" she asks. She already knows.

"I'm taking you home," he replies.

"I thought we'd . . . I thought we were going to your place," Tyra says quietly.

"I'm tired, Tyra; I'd just as soon . . . be alone tonight."

"Since when are you too tired for - fine," Tyra cuts herself off. Tim can hear the irritation in her voice. "That's fine, Tim. Just take me home then."

They drive in silence for the rest of the drive. When he pulls up to her house, Tyra opens the door and hops out quickly. She pauses for a minute outside the passenger door, clearly wanting to say something. Tim is tired. He doesn't want to argue with her; doesn't want her to ask him questions he's not prepared to answer. He just wants to go home.

"I think we need to talk about this, Tim," Tyra says finally. Quietly.

"About what, Tyra?" Tim sighs.

Tyra nods tightly. "Fine, Tim. Just . . . go. We'll talk later."

Tim nods. "Fine. G'night, Tyra," he barely glances at her as she walks away. He leans his head back against his seat, closing his eyes. He waits until he hears Tyra open her front door before opening his eyes and driving away.

He's relieved.


	4. Chapter 4

It's 2 a.m. When he opens the door, bleary-eyed, she's standing there nervously. Shifting from foot to foot. Like she's scared someone's going to spot her. Recognize her. Publish it in the Dillon Gazette.

"Hi," he says, rubbing his eyes.

"Hi," she says, quietly. Chewing on her lip.

"Come in," he steps aside for her. He yawns.

She does. "Aren't you . . . surprised to see me?" she asks.

"Should I be?" he asks.

Lyla's eyes move down his body. Which is mostly naked right now. Except for some boxer briefs that are barely covering anything. "Are you . . . are you alone?" she asks.

He nods, watching her carefully. "Are you surprised?" he asks.

"Should I be?"

He doesn't respond.

"I - um - needed to talk to you," she says finally. "I came here to talk to you."

"At 2 a.m.?" he asks, yawning again and stretching his arms above his head.

She's trying to not to look at that body. "I couldn't sleep. Can you . . . can you maybe put some clothes on?"

"Am I distracting you?"

"No," she says. Defensively. "I'm just - I -"

"There's nothing here you haven't seen before. A million times. Maybe more," he grins.

Lyla blushes. "I don't - I shouldn't be here right now . . . . I couldn't sleep. Bryan - it's . . . weird having him here with me."

Tim scowls. "Bryan," he repeats. "The Boyfriend."

"Tim, please . . . . I - he's - he's part of my life now."

"Seems to me like you can do better."

"You don't know him, Tim," Lyla shakes her head. She looks at the ground.

"I know you," he replies. He pauses for a minute. "Do you love him?" he finally asks, looking directly at her.

She can't look into his eyes. "Yes," she says slowly. "I do - I did - I mean, I -" she breaks off, finally meeting Tim's gaze. "We have a future - we're making a future together."

"Right. The hedge fund," Tim says.

"No, it's not - it's not the hedge fund - it's - we've been together for a year now; he's - he's right for me. He just - he's right for me."

Tim nods slowly. "But you don't love him."

"No, I do," Lyla's voice rises. "I do - I just - I'm just confused right now. I can't . . . think. I need to think."

"I love you, Lyla." He looks at her. Plainly. Honestly. Like not a day has passed since they stood before one another saying goodbye.

He sees Lyla trying to hold back tears. "You don't know me anymore, Tim."

"That's not true," he says. "I will always know you. You're family."

"We haven't . . . we haven't seen each other in four years."

"Why not?" Tim asks. "Why haven't you been home in four years? You were in Austin -" he spits out the word - "last summer. And you didn't . . . you didn't come home? You didn't want to . . . see me?"

Lyla shakes her head. Tears are falling down her face. She can't stop them anymore. "I - I don't know - I just haven't had - haven't been able to . . . ."

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I don't - I don't know," she's crying freely now. "To avoid . . . this. I - I don't - what do you want from me, Tim?" she finally asks. Her voice is rough. She's hurt. Angry. Crying. "You dropped out of college. That was - that was what -I- wanted for -you,- from you," she splutters. "That was your chance at a future. A real future," she's wiping at her tears now, trying to compose herself. She takes a breath. "So instead, you came back to Dillon to . . . to run a chop shop? Go to prison? -Prison,- Tim? What did you expect me to do? You expected me to come running back here to . . . what? Declare my love for you?" She shakes her head. "I can't be here. This was a mistake."

Lyla tries to move toward the door. Tim grabs her arm. "I didn't," he says. "I didn't expect you to come see me in prison. But I did expect you to - I don't know - maybe respond to one of my letters. I expected that." He is hurt. Desperate.

Lyla's shoulders slump. The anger is gone. She isn't trying to get away anymore. Tim loosens his grip on her arm. "I know . . . . I didn't want to - to deal with . . . that. I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry."

And then she's in his arms, crying. Sobbing. He's holding her tightly. He doesn't know anything else. This is who he is, what he knows - holding her, comforting her, protecting her. He can feel her wet tears against his bare chest. He misses her so much; misses this - the feeling of her pressed against him, holding onto him, her softness, her warmth.

When Lyla finally looks up at him - with big watery brown eyes - Tim kisses her. Immediately. Deeply. He can't help himself. She doesn't stop him. It's clear that she wants it - him - as much as he does.

He's pushing her back to his bedroom now, tearing at her clothing. When they make love, it's like . . . it's like it always was, like no time has passed at all, like they're Tim and Lyla - the golden couple, the couple that's always going to be together, the couple that loves each other like crazy, that won't let anything get in their way. Except. It's not that way anymore. They're not those people anymore.

When it's over, he's still holding onto her, scared that if he lets her go, she'll get up and start putting her clothes on - that she'll run back to Bryan and disappear for another four years. Or longer. She's lightly outlining his chest with her finger. They don't speak. They just stay like that - it feels like hours - in their mutual knowledge, comfort, history with one another. There's no pretense - no bull shit. It's just Tim and Lyla.

"Why are you working for my dad?" Lyla finally asks. Quietly. They're lying inches apart from one another, facing one another.

"I don't know," he replies. "It was a temporary thing - when I got out of . . ." he doesn't want to say the word, "when I came home. He stepped up; gave me a job when I needed one . . . . Worked out pretty well for me, actually. Flexible hours. And it brings in some extra cash so that I can coach."

"At Dillon?"

"Yeah," he smiles. Sheepishly. "I'm an assistant offensive coordinator now. But it doesn't pay all that much."

"Wow," Lyla whispers. "That's great, Tim, that's really great." She smiles. It's genuine. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," he returns the smile. He brushes some hair out of her face. He runs a finger down her cheek, over her mouth. "I miss you, Lyla. So much."

Lyla doesn't respond. She looks at him, his face, so close to hers. "I have a boyfriend, Tim," she finally says. Softly. Sadly. "A job - in Austin, a life . . . . If things were different, if things could be - if we could go back and . . . ." she trails off. "But we can't," she adds finally.

"It doesn't have to be that way, Lyla," Tim whispers.

She pauses. "If I asked you to come to Austin with me, would you?"

He's silent for a moment. "If I asked you to stay here with me - in Dillon - would you?"

Lyla smiles. Sadly. She's seen this film before. Four years ago. She pulls away from him and sits up.

Tim immediately sits up as well, reaching out for her. "Don't go, Lyla."

She stands up and starts pulling on her clothes.

"Lyla," he says again. He gets up.

"I have to, Tim," she turns toward him, slipping her tee shirt over her arms. "I can't stay here. Bryan - he's waiting for me."

"Are you going to tell him that you were here?" Tim asks. Bitterly.

Lyla doesn't respond. She's pulling on her sweatpants - old Dillon Panther sweatpants - and running her fingers through her hair, trying to remove all traces of what just happened here.

"Lyla," Tim tries again. She's walking out of his bedroom, toward the front door. He follows her.

When she reaches the door, she turns around. "I'm not," she says. "I'm not going to tell him." She pauses. "It's - it's crazy - when I'm with you, I turn into this . . . cheater," she shakes her head. "This horrible person. I hurt people . . . . Jason . . . . Bryan. It's like I can't stop myself from . . . from doing this with you. What's wrong with me?" she asks. It's not really a question.

Lyla turns to go. Tim holds out his hand, stopping her. "You love me," he says. "You're not a horrible person. You love me. We love each other," he's pleading with her now.

Lyla is shaking her head. "We can't do this, Tim - not again. There is no 'us' here. You - you're - you have a life in Dillon now. With the Panthers. With your family. With Tyra," she spits out the last word. "And I - I'm - I have a life somewhere else. You can't come with me, and I can't stay. I won't stay," she adds. Firmly. Sadly.

She pulls out of his grasp and walks out of the door. She doesn't look back.


	5. Chapter 5

Bryan is talking about Mexico or something. Something about Rick Carlson and a trip. Maybe later this summer. Before Austin.

Lyla is nodding, picking at her omelet. Mushrooms, cheese. It sounded good when she ordered it. Now it just sits there - yellow, oozing. It's turning her stomach.

"So, what do you think?" Bryan's asking.

Lyla looks up at him. "It's - right. It could be a fun trip. For you, I mean."

"You'd be cool with it?"

"Totally," Lyla nods her head. Listlessly. She takes a sip of coffee and looks around. The diner is crowded. Saturday morning diners - omelets, eggs over easy, plates piled high with pancakes are being delivered to the tables around her.

"Great," Bryan seems oblivious to her apathy. "I was thinking, I'd head back this way a little early, and pick Rick up on the way. He doesn't have to start working until September, either."

"Head back?"

"To Texas," Bryan's brows are furrowed. "Are you listening, Lyla?" he smiles at her. Teasingly.

"Yeah," she looks up at him immediately, "Of course," she smiles, too. "Right, heading to Texas early to take a guys' trip to Mexico," she takes his hand and squeezes it lightly.

When she looks up again she sees Tyra Collette at the counter, placing an order or something - Lyla catches only a glimpse of her, but it's enough to cause her to shift her eyes downward at the table. Tyra is pretty much the last person she wants to see right now. Well, second perhaps to Tim Riggins.

Lyla picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip. She watches Bryan wolf down his omelet. She sighs. He is a good guy. A smart guy. A handsome guy. A guy from the right family with the right credentials and the right job and the right pedigree. Right, right, right. All sorts of right.

"It'll be good," Lyla suddenly says. "Austin - right? It'll be good?"

Bryan looks up at her. He seems concerned. "Are you okay?" He asks slowly.

"Yeah," Lyla says. "Of course. Yes," she moves her hand to her hair. Unconsciously. "Why?"

Bryan shakes his head, picking up his coffee cup. "No reason - you just seem - I don't know. Nervous. Are you - are you worried about something? Finding a place? Moving in together?"

"No," Lyla shakes her head and then stops. "Yes, I guess. A little . . . . Aren't you?"

"Why, if it isn't Lyla Garrity - nice to see y'all again," Tyra Collette is approaching them with two take-out bags in hand. She is loud. Sugary. And interrupting a pretty damn important conversation that Lyla's just worked up the nerve to start. Of course Tyra couldn't walk by and just leave them the hell alone.

Lyla sighs. It'll keep. She looks up at Tyra and forces a smile. "Hi," she says.

"Hi Tyra," Bryan's smiling at her. "Nice to see you again, too."

"Hi Bryan," Tyra looks over at him. "Lookin' good. The omelet, I mean," she gives him a wink.

Lyla pushes away her plate. The sight of Tyra openly flirting with her boyfriend is enough to make her omelet look even less appetizing, if at all possible.

"What are y'all up to on this bright, beautiful day?" Tyra is yammering away.

Lyla wants to close her eyes. Shut her brain off. Curl up in her bed and sleep. She knows that she needs to talk with Bryan - really talk with him - about her fears, her uncertainty, her second thoughts about . . . about what? Austin? Their relationship? Tim Riggins? What the hell is she actually going to say? Maybe it's a good thing Tyra interrupted them.

"Don't know yet," Bryan's smiling back at Tyra. "Recommendations?"

Tyra snorts. "Well, there's not all that much to see in Dillon."

"And yet, you're here," Lyla says quietly. She can't help herself.

Tyra shoots her a glare before recovering her composure. "Yes, I am. Just heading over to Tim's place, actually -" she emphasizes Tim's name for Lyla's benefit - "with breakfast. Should I tell him you say hi?" she smiles sweetly at Lyla.

"Don't bother," Lyla mutters. Since I was in his bed about five hours ago. She takes a breath and forces a smile. "Take care, Tyra."

"Good seeing you again," Bryan adds.

"You, too, Bryan. Bye now, y'all," Tyra waves, flips her hair, and heads out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hi," Tim opens his door. He's looked better. His hair is disheveled; his eyes are bloodshot.

"What's up with you?" Tyra pulls her head back momentarily before stepping inside, waving bags of food and a tray of coffees. She doesn't wait for an answer. "Brought breakfast," she says airily.

"Thanks," Tim mutters. "Not hungry."

"Seriously, Tim?" Tyra places the steaming coffees on the kitchen island and goes about pulling out wrapped up breakfast sandwiches and cups of fruit. "I went to a lot of effort here." She puts a hand on her hip.

"I can see," Tim nods. "Thanks. Sorry."

"At least have some coffee," Tyra shoves a cup at him.

"Right. Thanks," he says. He pulls off the lid and takes a sip. "Thanks, Tyra," he says again. He doesn't know what else to say.

"Sit," Tyra points to the couch.

Tim sits.

"We need to talk."

Tim sighs. "Tyra, I'm so tired - I'm just - can we -"

"No, Tim. I want to talk about last night. I think you owe me that." Tyra sits down across from him, in an oversized chair.

Tim takes another sip of the steaming hot coffee. He leans forward and balances his elbows on his knees, holding the coffee with both hands. He looks down. "What do you want to talk about?" he asks. Resigned.

He is exhausted. Since Lyla left him - what, six hours ago? - he's just been replaying things in his head. This isn't him. He's not that guy. He's not the guy who sits around thinking about a woman who's just walked out the door. Right? Tim thinks he's gotten a few hours of sleep, maybe. He's not ready to have this conversation. Not with Tyra. He doesn't want to hurt her. And, perhaps more selfishly, admitting things out loud - admitting what he and Lyla did together last night - would force him to make some tough choices that he's not ready to make.

"I saw Lyla," Tyra says suddenly. Tim's head snaps up. "This morning," Tyra adds. "At the diner."

Tim stares at her. Tyra has his full attention now.

"She says hi," Tyra mutters.

Tim nods.

Tyra sighs. "Last night - you - it just seemed like, when you saw her . . . . I mean," she's struggling for the right words.

Tim looks back down at his coffee; he is relieved. Tyra doesn't know anything. Of course. Lyla would never have risked her relationship with Bryan, her perfect little existence with Bryan - Tim grits his teeth - just to spite Tyra. He can't believe he even thought for a second that Lyla would say what she was thinking - what she felt, what they did - aloud. Why would she ever admit it?

Tim wants to ask how Lyla looked, how she acted, if she was okay. He can't.

"You just - I don't know, Tim," Tyra is still talking. At him. "I just felt like - felt like I disappeared last night . . . when she came in. Like you went to this other place. Where I couldn't reach you. I thought we were - you and me - I thought we had something - have something here, you know?" Tyra's eyes are wide as she watches him.

Tim looks back up at her. Silently. His face is impassive.

Tyra tries again. "You and Lyla - you aren't together anymore. Haven't been for years. You and I have been seeing each other for a while now, right? And I'm back. Here. In Dillon. With you . . . . And then she comes to town - after four years. Four years, Tim! And it's like - I don't know," Tyra's shaking her head. "Like she has this power over you, or something. Am I wrong? Am I reading things wrong?" she asks.

Tim hears the desperation in her voice. She wants him to tell her that she's wrong. That she's crazy. That she totally misread everything. That he doesn't care about Lyla. That she's a stranger. That four years is a long time. A long fucking time. Far too long to just drop-kick your whole life into oblivion for another chance at things.

Tim can't tell Tyra the truth. And he doesn't want lie to her. He stays silent.

Tyra's nodding now. In recognition. Tim sees a teardrop run down her cheek; she's wiping it away, blinking rapidly, clearly trying not to break down in front of him.

"I, um - I don't really know what to say, Tim. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say now. Am I supposed to . . . am I supposed to accept being your second choice? Am I even your second choice?" She looks up at the ceiling, smiling wanly through tears. She can't look at him right now.

"It's not like that, Tyra," Tim says. "It's not. I just . . . ." He trails off, not sure what to say next.

"Tell me, Tim, tell me what it's like," she looks back at him, tears in her eyes. She's pleading with him now.

Tim shakes his head. "Lyla's not - Lyla's not an option," he says. Dully.

"Right," Tyra laughs, wiping away her tears. "Well, lucky for me that Lyla's 'not an option.' How romantic. How fucking romantic."

"Tyra, I don't . . . I don't want to hurt you," Tim holds the cup of coffee tightly. He looks down at the ground. "I don't want to . . . ."

"Hurt me again?" Tyra finishes for him. "With her?" she spits out the words. In so many ways, high school seems so far away. In other ways, it seems like yesterday. Tim. Lyla. Tim and Lyla. She tries to push those memories from her head - the memories of crying over him. Them. Together. You broke my heart, you fucking jerk.

Tyra is still wiping away her tears as she gets up. "So, what now, Tim?" she asks finally. "You shut yourself up in this house, drink yourself into a coma while . . . she's in town, and then . . . call me when she leaves? Or you want to screw right now and just pretend I'm her?"

Tim gets up, too. He puts his coffee down on a small side table. He doesn't say anything. Thinks it's probably smarter to stay quiet.

Tyra heads to the door. "You're - the food," Tim calls after her.

"Keep it," Tyra opens the door and steps out. She turns around. "Call me when you're ready to talk. For real," she walks out.


	7. Chapter 7

As soon as she drops Bryan off at the airport, she immediately heads for Tim's house. There's not even a moment of hesitation. Sure, she feels guilty. Horrible. But it doesn't stop her. She hasn't seen him since that night. Hasn't spoken to him. Has gone out of her way to avoid her father's bar, every other bar, the diner - anywhere, just anywhere she might possibly run into him. But now Bryan is gone and she can . . . can what? See him? Talk with him? Sleep with him?

And then of course, there's the question she doesn't even want to think about. What's next? When Bryan returns? When they move to Austin? She shakes her head as if to ward off her own thoughts.

When she shows up at his place, she realizes that she has no idea if he'll actually be there or not. It's Friday afternoon. Why would he be home?

He's not. Lyla sighs. She sits down on the front steps and looks around, watching the trees sway in the breeze. She doesn't know how long she stays there, just listening to the breeze. And the birds. It's so far from everything - from the highway and the cars and the diners and the people. It's pretty perfect, actually.

Finally, Lyla rises. She brushes the dirt off of her pants and wanders around the porch - it's a beautiful wrap-around porch with soaring views of his property. This land. Dillon. It's everything Tim ever wanted. She smiles sadly. This is Tim's dream.

She shouldn't be here. She can only mess this up - mess up his life, mess up hers. She doesn't belong here anymore. Lyla takes a last look at the house and turns to go.

When Tim pulls up - his truck kicking up dirt and dust as he comes to a stop in front of the house - she's still there. She freezes, watching him climb out of the truck, with a duffel bag. He's wearing gym shorts and a gray tee shirt that strains across his chest, showing off his sturdy build. He has a slight smile on his face.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," she replies. "I was - I came by - but I was -"

"Leaving," he finishes for her.

"Yeah," she nods.

"Don't," he says. He slams his truck door shut.

She nods. She can't say a word. She lets him guide her back up to the front door, into the house. He closes the door behind her, tossing his duffel bag onto the floor. "Practice," he says.

Lyla looks confused.

"Summer workout - voluntary," he explains.

"I don't remember any summer workouts," Lyla cocks her head to the side.

"That's because I never went to them," Tim grins and flops down next to her.

Lyla laughs. "Right."

"So," Tim looks at her. "Is Bryan gone?"

Lyla nods.

"And you're . . . here."

Lyla nods again. "I - I don't even know why. I just - when I - I just wanted to see you."

"I'm glad you did," Tim replies.

"Your house. It's beautiful."

"Thank you," Tim says. He watches Lyla. Carefully. He can't read her expression.

"I - I'm, uh," Lyla looks down at her hands, "I'm happy for you, Tim."

They sit in silence for a minute.

Finally, Tim speaks. Slowly. Choosing his words carefully. "I meant what I said to you last weekend, Garrity."

"I know."

They're silent for another minute.

"Are we just gonna . . . pretend that you don't have a boyfriend for another month here?" Tim finally asks. "Until you leave again?"

"I don't know," Lyla shakes her head. She looks at Tim. "Honestly. I don't know."

Tim sighs. He puts his arms around her. He wants not to do this. Wants to be strong enough to tell her that she has to choose. Bryan and Austin. Or this. Him. Them. Right here. He can't. He's kissing her and she's kissing him back and, right now, that's all that matters.


	8. Chapter 8

Tim watches as Lyla packs an overnight bag. They're at her dad's place. He's lying across her bed; she's folding a pair of pajamas.

"Let me come with you," he says.

Lyla laughs. "Yeah, right."

"No, seriously," he says. "I can . . . help."

"Help with what?" Lyla stops packing, putting her hands on her hips. "Help me find a place? For me and Bryan?"

"You shouldn't be going alone," Tim says. "He should be going with you. But he's not - too busy partying down in Mexico."

"Seriously?" Lyla raises an eyebrow, "You're pulling the 'he's a jerk because he's partying down in Mexico' card? Who are you?" she shakes her head and continues packing.

"Lyla," Tim sits up and takes her arm. "This is a big deal. You shouldn't have to do this alone."

"I'll be fine," Lyla mutters, shaking off his hand and folding a tee shirt.

"Lyla, Austin is a big city. You don't want to just . . . show up. Alone. You need someone there with you."

"Tim, I lived in Nashville for four years - I think I can take care of myself."

"That was on a college campus. This - this is totally different. You'd think that Bryan would want to actually show up and -"

"Don't, Tim. Seriously, just don't start it on Bryan again."

"Don't start in on Bryan? Where the hell is he? He's letting you do all the work while he takes off on a wild trip to Mexico."

"Mexico again," Lyla throws up her hands and glares at Tim. "Yes, Mexico. With one of -your- old Panther teammates," Lyla snaps at Tim, "the one who remembers you fondly as the wildest football player in the history of the Dillon Panthers. And while we're on the topic of Mexico, I seem to remember a little trip to Mexico you took - the one in which you drank your way through town, several whorehouses, ended up in jail, almost let Jason get killed, and then called me - no, begged me - to come down and help you out," she splutters. "Something about being a good Christian, right, Tim? And then - let's not forget about the capper on an otherwise excellent vacation - the booze cruise! That was fucking brilliant, Tim." She furiously continues to throw clothing into her bag, muttering to herself.

Tim looks sheepish. "Overall, though, we had a pretty good time, right?" he asks.

Lyla sighs. She doesn't respond.

"I'm sorry," Tim finally says. "I just - I want to help you -"

"You can help me by not trashing my boyfriend."

"I'm sorry," Tim says again. He puts a hand on her arm again. "Garrity. I'm sorry."

Lyla stops packing. She sits down on the bed next to him. "This is hard enough, Tim," she says quietly. "Without the - without this."

"I know," he says. He's quiet for a minute. "Lyla, I want to come with you. Let me come with you." He's looking at her. He doesn't even really know what he's asking, why he's asking. All he knows is that the past four weeks - this time with Lyla - has been incredible. Even though no one knows about it - no one can know about it - he has been happier than he has in ages. In years. He just doesn't want it to end.

She looks back at him. "Fine. Okay." She gets up and resumes packing. "What are you - you can't tell anyone," she says. "What are you going to say?"

Tim shrugs. "I dunno. I won't say anything."

"You can't not say anything," Lyla looks exasperated. "You have to - you have to have a story. I mean - Tyra - if she -"

"Tyra knows, Lyla," Tim says.

Lyla stops packing again and looks up at Tim. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Tyra knows," he says. "She's not an idiot, Lyla. She can do the math. You show up in Dillon, and I disappear? I mean, we were screwing pretty regularly before -"

"I don't want to hear it, Tim," Lyla cuts him off.

"And we're not anymore. We haven't since you came home. What would you make of that if you were her?"

Lyla sits down on the bed again. Next to Tim. She's so tired. Of the lies, of everything. It reminds her too much of how everything started with her and Tim - sneaking around, hurting people, lying. She hated it then, and she hates it now. So why does she keep doing this with him?

"I don't know," she finally replies. Wearily. "Do you think she'll -"

"Say something to Bryan?" he cuts her off. Bitterly. "No, Lyla. She won't. What could she tell him? She hasn't seen us, she hasn't - she won't say anything, Garrity. Don't worry. Your relationship is . . . safe." The bitterness is gone. Now he just sounds sad.

Lyla looks down at her hands. "Why do you want to come to Austin, Tim? This whole thing . . . . Why do you want to see the life that . . . ." she trails off, unable to continue.

"I won't be part of?" he finishes for her quietly. He shrugs. "I don't know. Honestly. I don't know."


	9. Chapter 9

"So, what do you think?" the realtor is smiling expectantly - looking back and forth between Lyla and Tim.

Lyla is circling the apartment with a huge smile on her face. She stops at the balcony.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the realtor joins her at the balcony doors. "Great view."

"Yeah," Lyla murmurs. "It is." She looks back at Tim, who is standing in the middle of the living room, looking around.

"And that space -" the realtor turns back to Tim and catches his eye, "Wouldn't it be perfect for a mounted flat screen - right on that wall?" She spreads her hands across the air. "A nice couch, flat screen, beer in hand, watching the game?" She smiles at him.

"That would be nice," Tim replies, a slow smile spreading across his face. Lyla turns her head toward him, rolling her eyes and laughing, before turning back to the balcony doors.

"So?" The realtor asks again. "I mean, I'll be honest, out of everything we've seen today - this is the best you're going to find," she turns back to Lyla.

Lyla nods slowly, opening the balcony doors and stepping outside. "Yeah, it's pretty great. Has anyone else been through here yet? I mean, it's just gone on the market and -"

"I'm sure that a place like this - it's going to go quickly," the realtor follows her out to the balcony.

Tim ambles out behind them and leans against the railing, looking out at the city beneath them.

"It's . . . wonderful," Lyla says. "Expensive," she adds. More to herself than to anyone else.

"It's true. But this place? It's worth it. Right in the heart of things," the realtor pauses, "and two bedrooms, two baths, a balcony - this view," the realtor sweeps her arms out in front of her again. "You can't beat it."

Lyla takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, turning her face upwards toward the sunshine. She doesn't respond.

"Why don't y'all take a minute to talk it over?" the realtor suggests. "I'll be in there," she quickly disappears before Lyla has a chance to stop her.

Tim moves next to Lyla. They both lean against the railing, looking out at the city. "It is beautiful," Lyla finally says.

"Yeah," Tim replies, turning to look at her. "It is."

They stand in silence for a moment. Tim puts his arm around Lyla, pulling her close to him. "I can . . ." he pauses, swallowing, "I can see you here." Softly. Sadly. He kisses the top of her head.

Lyla rests her head against his chest. "I'm scared," she says finally.

"I know," he replies, holding her tightly. "But it's gonna be great."

"I hope so," she says quietly. She separates herself from Tim and leans back against the railing again.

They are silent for another minute. "I'm going to break up with Bryan," she finally says. Quietly. More to herself than to Tim.

Tim is caught off guard. He looks at her, eyes wide, but doesn't reply.

"I'm going to take this place," Lyla says. A bit louder. "And break up with Bryan." She's nodding, sounding more sure of herself as she repeats it. Almost like she was testing it out at first.

"Are you - are you serious?" he asks.

"Yeah," Lyla is nodding, looking out over the city. "I'm serious."

Tim is quiet for a minute. There are a million thoughts rushing through his head. This summer – being with Lyla again, laughing with her again, making love to her again, talking about their futures, their dreams. High school - their last summer together before she left for Vanderbilt. The summer he told her to go and follow her dreams. To leave him behind. And her last trip home. Four years ago. When he'd asked her to stay. With him. To start a life with him. When he'd told her he wanted her and nothing else. When she left him and went back to Vanderbilt. When he said goodbye to the love of his life.

Finally, Tim speaks, haltingly, quietly. "You asked me - you asked me when you came home . . . if I'd come to Austin. If you asked me to."

Lyla nods slowly. "I did."

"Are you asking me to?"

Lyla turns to Tim and scrutinizes him. "Are you telling me that you would?" she finally asks.

Tim looks back out over the city, as he tightens his grip on the railing. "I guess I am," he replies slowly. "I guess I am," he repeats as he looks back at her.

"What about Dillon - your house, your family, the Panthers?" she's asking. "You couldn't possibly . . . you wouldn't leave that behind." She shakes her head.

"I thought – I thought I couldn't – that I wouldn't. I was wrong." He watches an airplane in the distance, flying high above them.

"What would you do here?" Lyla asks.

"I don't know," Tim replies. "Coach somewhere, I guess. Coach Leary could help me find something, I'm sure."

"And your house . . .?"

Tim shakes his head. "I don't know."

Lyla looks at the ground. She feels the pressure of tears starting to form. She tries to blink them back. "If you had made me that offer four years ago . . . I would have -" she stops and laughs. Sadly. "I would have jumped at it." She shakes her head.

"I don't understand," Tim says slowly, watching her carefully.

"Tim," Lyla looks up at him, tears in her eyes. "I'm saying no. I'm not asking you to come to Austin with me." She pauses. "I don't want you to come to Austin with me."

Tim's eyes widen. "I don't - I don't understand," he says again.

Lyla swallows. "I - I need to do this on my own. I've screwed everything up - with Bryan, with - just, I've - I need to do this on my own."

"I love you, Garrity. I thought you - I thought you felt the same way about me. I thought – I thought that's what this was about," he's confused, hurt, frustrated.

"I do," Lyla nods. "I love you, Tim. So much. I've fucked up every relationship I've had for you. Because of you. Because I'm in love with you. I can't keep . . . I can't keep doing this . . . rinse, lather, repeat. I can't break up with Bryan for you. I need to do this for me. To start this life. To stand on my own. For me."

Tim is staring at her. "Lyla, you - you and me - we're . . ." He trails off. He doesn't know what to say. "I love you."

"I should have visited you, Tim," Lyla locks eyes with him. "In prison. I should've visited you. Written you."

Tim stares at her. Wordlessly. As if he's watching this scene from above. With two other people acting out the scene.

"And I'm sorry for that," Lyla continues. "I need you to understand – I was scared. I - when you asked me to come back - four years ago . . . come back to Dillon . . . I was scared. Because, being there with you," she wipes away tears, "being there with you, I wanted to. I wanted to stay. And I couldn't . . ." she trails off, fighting back a sob. "I didn't want . . . I didn't want to be pulled back. And I had to go."

"I know," Tim says softly, "I know that. I know you had to go. I'm not . . . I'm not trying to pull you back. I just want to be with you," he says. Sadly. Simply.

"And I don't want to take you away from your home. Dillon – that's – that's where you've always wanted to be. You're here now, caught up in the moment; you think you . . . you think you want something else now, but I've seen you there. I know how happy you are. With your life there. I don't want to take you away from that – from what you love," Lyla is pleading with him now.

"But I love –you-," Tim says again. Angrily.

Lyla sighs. "When I wanted to follow you to San Antonio State . . . remember that?" she smiles at him through her tears. "I was so in love with you, I didn't care - I just - I just wanted to be with you, remember?"

Tim looks away.

"You - you told me to go to Vanderbilt. To follow my dreams. To . . . to leave you behind. Because you loved me," Lyla swallows, choking back more tears. "You did that. For me. I will always be grateful to you for that. Always, Tim. I will always love you for that."

Tim looks back at her. His mouth is wavering. He can't speak. Lyla touches his face. "Tim, I know you think - right now - you think that you could do this, be here with me, but I can't let you. I want to say yes, I want you to come to Austin, I want to be with you. Now. Tomorrow. Next week. I am so in love with you, you have no idea. But you're . . . you don't – you're not thinking straight about things. Believe me, I know. Believe me, Tim. Please." She pauses. "I'm going to do this alone. I need to do this alone. For me. And you need to - you need to go back to Dillon and figure things out. What you really want. What your future is going to look like. For you."

"What if I want a future with you? What if that's what I really want?" Tim finally asks. Quietly.

"Then I'll still be here," Lyla replies softly, wiping her eyes. "Six months from now. A year from now. I'll still be here."

Tim looks down at the ground. He is quiet. He looks up at Lyla and then back out over the city. This beautiful view. Finally, he nods. "Okay," he says. "Okay."

Lyla hugs him. Tightly. He holds her close. They stay like that for a minute. Finally, he releases her. Lyla takes his hand and heads back toward the balcony doors. They hold hands as they walk back into the apartment.

The realtor looks up expectantly, impatiently. She quickly puts a smile on her face. "Well?" she asks.

Lyla looks at Tim one last time before turning back to the realtor. She takes a deep breath. "I'll take it," she finally says.


	10. Chapter 10

When he pulls up to the house, she's sitting on his front steps. Waiting for him. Tim pulls his duffel bag out of the truck, and walks slowly toward the house. Toward her.

"Hi," he says, as Tyra rises.

"Hi," she says. Coldly. "Billy told me you were coming home today."

"Right," Tim nods, stepping around her to unlock his front door. He pushes it open and walks in.

"That's all you have to say?" Tyra asks, throwing her arms up as she follows him inside. "Right?" she mimics him. She slams his front door shut.

Tim tenses as he hears the door slam. He throws his bag on the floor and immediately heads to the refrigerator. This conversation is clearly going to require a beer. Or twenty.

"What do you want me to say, Tyra?" he asks, burying his head in the refrigerator.

"How was the trip?" Tyra smiles coldly, as Tim emerges from the refrigerator with a beer.

"Want one?" he asks.

"No."

Tim shrugs, and pops his beer open. He throws himself down on the sofa and kicks his feet up onto the coffee table.

"Hunting, Billy told me," Tyra continues, sitting down across from him. She stares at him. Coldly.

"It was fine," Tim replies.

"Yeah?" Tyra raises an eyebrow. "Kill anything?"

"No," Tim takes a swig of beer.

"So, how are -Lyla's- hunting skills?" Tyra asks. "Would you say grade A, or maybe - maybe she needs some work?"

Tim stops in mid-drink. He looks at Tyra. He is silent.

"Right," Tyra nods. "Of course. If you admit that you were with her, then - then you'd have to admit the fact that she's been fucking around behind her boyfriend's back. With you. Gosh, that story sounds so familiar," she shakes her head, smiling. "Can't imagine where I've heard that one before."

Tim takes another drink of beer. He doesn't respond.

"And, of course, you'd never want to tell me anything that would . . . make things inconvenient," she spits out the word, "for Lyla. No," she laughs harshly. "God forbid you tell me anything - do anything - that would have consequences for -her.-" Her face is cold. Angry.

"Tyra," Tim leans forward, "I - I want to talk with you about this, but I'm - you're so angry right now that it's -"

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, Tim," Tyra shakes her head, smiling, "I just - I didn't realize that I was . . . that I was being so terrible right now. I just - I just barged in here - demanding explanations for why the guy that I'm in love has been lying to me the whole fucking summer - and I just, I clearly didn't appropriately consider that you might be put off by that. I am -so- sorry, Tim."

"Tyra, I get that you're . . . I get that you're angry. I know you have a right to be angry. I just - I know that I . . . I owe you an explanation. I get that."

"Do you, Tim?" Tyra furrows her brow. "Do you actually get it? Because it seems to me that you don't really get it. Lyla Garrity waltzed in here a month ago - a -month- ago, after -four years-, when I thought you and -I- were seeing each other. But, apparently I was mistaken - because as soon as -she- came home, anything we had went right out the window, right? Forget about the fact that she had a boyfriend - forget about the fact that you had a girlfriend . . . . Forget about all of that because -nothing's- going to keep Tim Riggins and Lyla Garrity apart, right? Not a boyfriend. Not a girlfriend. Not even a fucking paralyzed -best- friend, right?"

Tim's eyes widen. He expected the anger. Just perhaps . . . not this level of anger. The mention of Jason leaves him shaken. Tyra knows. She knows that this topic is off limits. Jason. Lyla. Tim. Their complicated history. It's not a conversation he particularly likes having with Jason or Lyla. But with anyone else - with outsiders - it's untouchable. That Tyra went there - is going there, wants to go there - suggests that maybe she doesn't give a shit anymore. That's maybe she's willing to take a blow torch to their friendship altogether. A friendship which, at this point, appears to be hanging by a thread.

"I'll tell you what, Tim," Tyra finally rises from her chair, "I'll tell you what - you are a grade A, fucking asshole. But really," she laughs and shakes her head, "I'm the idiot here. Because I already lived through this once. And yet, here we are, again. Same fucking movie. Same fucking actors."

Tim gets up. He moves toward her. Tyra holds out an arm to block him. "Don't. You. Dare. Touch. Me."

Tim stops in his tracks. "Tyra," he shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I am. You're right - I don't - I don't have any excuse . . . . I just -"

"You just what, Tim?" Tyra asks. "You just . . . couldn't help yourself? You just . . . couldn't be honest with me? You just . . . have no respect for me? No use for me? What, Tim, what?"

Tim is shaking his head, looking at the floor. "I - I - was an asshole. Am an asshole. I know. You're right. I - I thought - I don't know what I thought. I'm sorry." He pauses, looking back up at her. She stares right back at him. Hotly. Furiously.

"I'm in love with Lyla," he finally says. He looks her squarely in the eye. He owes her that much.

Tyra is frozen in place for a moment. She looks deflated, as the anger drains out of her, replaced by the reality . . . the sinking reality that this is over. That it's not real. That none of this has been real. Tim isn't hers. He's never really been hers.

Tyra sinks back into her chair. She knew. She already knew. But it hurts so fucking much to hear it. She buries her head in her hands.

He sees her shoulders shake as she starts crying. Quietly. Almost silently. Into her hands. He goes toward her, kneels down next to her. He wants to touch her, but can't.

"Tyra, I -" Tim stops. He doesn't know what to say, how to fix this mess he's made, how to put back together the pieces of this friendship. He doesn't want this. He's never wanted this.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Tyra," he finally says. Quietly. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Tyra doesn't respond. She can't.

Tim puts a hand on her arm. She flinches. She can't look up at him, can't meet his eyes.

"Tyra," he tries again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was . . . I was wrong. I didn't . . . I let this happen, I let you believe in something, and I -" he stops again. He doesn't know what to say. He wants to crawl into bed - with a bottle of whiskey - and stay there. He is miserable; Lyla is miserable. And now, Tyra - and Bryan, he guesses, any moment now - get to be miserable right along with them.

He stays there next to her, kneeling next to her - it feels like hours - while she cries. Finally, she wipes her eyes and looks up at him. "What now?" she asks. "You . . . you and her . . .?" she trails off.

"No," Tim replies quietly, looking away from her.

"You lost out to Bryan anyway, huh? After all this?" Tyra smiles through her tears. Bitterly.

Tim runs a hand through his hair, looking at Tyra. "She's breaking up with him."

"I don't understand," Tyra says.

Tim shakes his head. "I don't either."

"But you're . . . she knows . . . how you feel?"

"She knows."

"I see," Tyra says. Slowly. Quietly. "So you're . . . alone."

"I am."

"Good," Tyra replies. She looks at him. "Good. I'm glad. You deserve to be alone."

He doesn't reply.

She stands up, wiping her face, running her hand across her nose. She grabs her purse and heads to the door.

"Tyra," he gets up and follows her. She stops and looks back at him.

"I know you hate me right now," he says. "You have every reason to hate me right now. I know that . . . . I just - I hope that you can . . . I hope that we can get past this. At some point. I hope you can forgive me . . . . I want to be your friend. We're family."

"No," Tyra says quietly, shaking her head. "We're not. You don't do this to family." She walks out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

"Hi, Mr. Garrity," Tim looks up as he sees Buddy Garrity walk in through the front door. Tim is setting up for the day - it's his favorite time at the bar, although that isn't saying much. It's before the doors open. Before things get busy. Before the same old town drunks take up in their usual spots to reminisce about days gone by. That part of it is particularly depressing to Tim. This could be his life 20 years from now. He hopes that it isn't.

"Tim," Buddy nods briskly. He isn't smiling. Tim's stomach drops. He couldn't know anything, right? Lyla wouldn't have said anything. Right?

"I'm, uh, just gettin' a keg ready here, Mr. Garrity. Gotta head out a bit early today - there's a scrimmage, and Coach Leary needs me to-"

"Just cut the crap, Tim Riggins," Buddy replies shortly.

"Sir?" Tim looks at him.

"My daughter came home from Austin last night," his lips are pursed in an unfriendly line. "To tell me - but you already know what she told me, don't you, Tim?"

"I wouldn't have any idea, sir," Tim replies.

"Right, right. Of course," Buddy smiles. It's not a friendly smile. He slides onto a bar stool in front of Tim, who instinctively takes a step back. "Do you recall a friendly little conversation we had before Lyla came home this summer?"

Tim stares at Buddy. Impassively.

Buddy smiles again, shaking his head. "Why would you? You've never listened me before, why would you start now? . . . . You and I have a long history, don't we, Tim Riggins. I thought - before this summer, at least - I thought both of us wanted the same thing: what was best for Lyla."

"I do, sir," Tim replies immediately. "We both do."

"Now, see, that's where we kind of veer off course. Right there," Buddy waggles his finger. "Because -I've- always wanted Lyla to meet someone - someone that could take real good care of her," he locks eyes with Tim momentarily, "that could take care of her the way she deserves to be taken care of. You, on the other hand, have always tried to screw that up. Why, Tim?"

"I don't understand, Mr. Garrity."

"Oh, you understand real well, Tim. Lyla," he pauses, glaring at Tim, "has informed me that she has broken up with Bryan. Just like that. No warning. No explanation. Nuthin.' Going their separate ways, says Lyla. Something about growing apart, not wanting the same things in life, yada yada. Which is a funny thing, you know, since not a month ago - she and Bryan were here, standing in this bar, as happy as two clams, planning their future together." He pauses, eyeing Tim as he turns away from Buddy and hoists a keg up onto the back of the bar.

"Leave it," Buddy says. Shortly.

Tim stops. He turns back around slowly.

"So I'm askin' you, Tim," Buddy continues, narrowing his eyes. "I'm askin' you - what happened between then and now? Because, you know, I've been doin' an awful lot of thinkin' about that myself, and the only answer I have is you. -You- happened between then and now," he shakes his head before glaring back at Tim. "My daughter hasn't been back in Dillon for four years. -Four years.- She was happy. She was content. She had everything she wanted. And yet, the moment, the -moment- she steps foot into town, -you- are in her face. Tryin' to insinuate yourself back into her life. Is that the way you thank me, Tim? For standin' up for you - in front of the parole board, in front of this town? For givin' you a job? For supportin' you with the Panther organization? Is that the thanks I get? That you - that you - right under my nose," he splutters, "go right under my nose and take my daughter from me?"

"I didn't take your daughter from you, Mr. Garrity," Tim replies. His jaw tenses.

"Yeah. Well, Lyla - that little girl of mine - lemme tell you, she's loyal to you to a fault," Buddy says bitterly. "She wouldn't tell me anything about you. And her. Wouldn't tell me if she'd seen you this summer, if you'd even spoken, let alone . . . . I don't even want to think about it. But I'll tell you this, Tim, I know my daughter. And I know you. And if you think - if you think you can just walk back into her life, you've got another thing comin.' I'll move heaven and earth to keep her away from you."

Tim looks down and nods. He has a bitter smile on his face. "What happened to takin' me in like 'family,' Mr. Garrity?" he asks. "Remember that whole speech?"

"That was before you decided to move in on my daughter, Tim," Buddy seethes.

Tim shakes his head in disbelief. "I dated your daughter, sir. For years - I loved your daughter; she loved me."

"That was before you were a felon," Buddy spits out.

Tim bites his lip. He nods slowly. He is silent.

Buddy stands up. His bar stool screeches. It sounds harsh in the quiet of a morning that's not yet subsumed by the sounds of blaring televisions, chatting patrons, clinking glasses. It's the only sound in an otherwise quiet bar, as the two men facing one another, staring at one another - who seemingly want the same thing, love the same person - are on opposite sides of a clearly drawn line. One that has now been crossed. By both of them.

Finally, Buddy speaks again. "I want you out of here, Tim. You're not welcome here."

Tim nods again. He throws down a bar towel, and grabs a duffel bag from under the bar. He doesn't look at Buddy as he heads to the door.

"Tim," Buddy calls after him.

Tim stops and looks back at Buddy.

"I mean it. Stay away from Lyla," Buddy says, before turning his back on Tim and heading toward the kitchen.


	12. Chapter 12

"Tim," Billy is shouting at him through the front door. "Seriously. Let me in."

When Tim opens the door - finally - Billy wastes no time. "What the hell, Timmy? You're not returning my calls? Not showing up at work? And now you're not even answering the door?"

"I've haven't missed any practices."

"I'm talking about the bar, dumbass."

"I got fired."

"What?" Billy narrows his eyes.

"The bar. I got fired."

"Buddy Garrity fired you?"

"Yes, Billy," Tim replies slowly. Impatiently. "Buddy Garrity fired me." He turns around and heads back to the couch. Back to his beer. He silently offers one to his brother.

Billy takes the beer and sits down across from him. "Why?"

"Don't you know why by now?" Tim asks.

Billy looks down. "That's why I'm here."

"Of course," Tim smiles. Not kindly. "That's why you're here."

"Timmy, what were you thinkin'? You don't shit where you eat. You don't shit where you eat," he repeats. Louder. In frustration.

"Are you talkin' about Lyla or Tyra now, Billy?" Tim asks.

"Both actually, jackass. You're related to one-"

"By marriage."

"-and you work - or rather, -worked-, for the other one's father," Billy continues without missing a beat. "What were you thinkin'? You started up with Tyra again, which was - as I mentioned at the time - a bad idea; then Lyla comes back to town - with a boyfriend," he emphasizes, "and you had to go and . . . what . . . pull a Jason Street all over again? Seriously, little bro, what were you thinkin'?"

Tim doesn't respond. He takes a drink of beer.

"Right," Billy nods. "Of course. Right. Why try to explain anything?" He shakes his head.

Tim stares at him. Silently.

"Timmy - Tyra is clear out of her mind right now. Do you have any idea how upset she is? Do you have any idea how much - and how often - I have to hear about it - from Mindy Riggins, formerly Mindy -Collette-, otherwise known as my wife?"

"I can't imagine, Billy," Tim responds sarcastically. "My heart breaks for you."

"Fine. You don't care. I get it. But what about Lyla? And Buddy? What about your job? You don't care about that either?"

Tim doesn't respond.

"What was it all for, Timmy?"

Tim can't look at him. He just stares down at his beer bottle. They sit in silence for a minute.

Billy's eyes narrow, as he watches his brother carefully. "Are you still in love with her?" he finally asks. Incredulously. He pauses, waiting for Tim to respond. To say something. Do something. He doesn't. "You're still in love with her," he says. Slowly. The realization of what's happened this summer finally dawning on him. "You're in love with her." He says again. Almost to himself. Like he can't quite believe it.

Tim continues to sit in silence.

"Guess that explains Tyra's freakout," Billy muses, more to himself than Tim. "Must have missed that in the translation somewhere . . . ." he pauses for a moment, before looking back at Tim.

"Do you even -" he breaks off, shaking his head. "You haven't been together in -four years-, Timmy. She has a boyfriend - she's moving to Austin, for fuck's sake. You threw your job away, Tyra away . . . for what? For what, you idiot?"

Tim swallows. Hard. He can't look up at his brother.

"You're still in love with her," Billy repeats to himself. Again. Quietly. In disbelief. "Does she know?" Billy asks. Finally. He looks back at Tim. "Does she know?" he asks again. Louder.

Tim nods. He can't speak.

Billy sighs. "Goddamn it, Tim . . . . What now?"

Tim shrugs. "I don't know," he finally says.

"Lyla - she's gone," Billy says slowly. "She's - she's going to Austin. What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know," Tim says again.

"Well, you've gotta go talk to Buddy Garrity - get your job back," Billy finally says. Matter-of-factly. "You've gotta . . . you've get your shit together, you know? You had your . . . fun this summer, but it's time to - time to-"

"Buddy's not gonna hire me back, Billy," Tim interrupts him. Flatly.

"He will, Timmy; all you gotta is explain - tell him that you're sorry, that everything's over between y'all anyway, and -"

"Lyla broke up with Bryan. Her boyfriend. Bryan. That's why Buddy fired me. Not because we . . . well, maybe because we . . . but mostly, because he thinks I fucked up her life. That I interfered with . . . whatever," he trails off.

Billy stares at Tim, open-mouthed. They are both silent.

"Is it over, Timmy?" Billy asks slowly. "Are you - is it over?"

Tim shrugs. "I offered to move to Austin. She . . . turned me down."

Billy looks down at his hands. He's shaking his head. "How could you not have . . . how could you not have talked to me about any of this? I'm your brother, Tim. I love you. I'm your brother," he says again. The anger is gone. He just feels . . . helpless.

Tim shakes his head. "I don't know. What's there to say, really?"

"Timmy, I . . . ." Billy trails off. "What does - how does Lyla feel? She broke up with Bryan - why would she - I mean - I don't get it."

"I don't know, Billy," Tim says quietly. He looks up at Billy; Billy is raising an eyebrow. "Seriously, Billy, I don't know. It's not that I don't want to talk about it - I mean, I don't want to talk about it. But . . . I don't - I don't know."

"Motherfucker," Billy whispers, hanging his head and shaking it. "I'm sorry, Tim," he looks up. "I am. I'm sorry. I didn't - I didn't know."

"Whatever," Tim says. "It's okay."

"No, it's not, Tim. I just - who does Lyla think she is, anyway? It's like you're some outlet for her pent-up bad girl alter ego or something," Billy snaps. "First with Jason - she treated you like shit - like some dirty secret she had to keep; and now with this shit - she's really -"

"Don't go there, Billy," Tim says. Warningly.

Billy stops. His mouth forms a tight line. Of course. Can't possibly speak ill of Lyla. He's learned that lesson already. He sighs. "I just want to know that you're okay, Tim," he finally says. "That you're gonna be okay."

"I'm gonna be okay," Tim says immediately. Automatically. Without emotion.

"You're a liar," Billy says quietly. He rises. "Will you call me if you need anything? If I can do anything? If you want to get a beer? Come over? See Stevie and the twins?" he smiles.

"Yeah," Tim nods. "I'll call you."

"Right," Billy says. He turns to go. Tim follows him silently to the door and opens it for him.

Billy steps out onto the front porch, and then hesitates. "Tim," he turns around again, "Just - nothing," he says quickly. "I'll call you tomorrow." He watches helplessly as Tim nods, closing the door in his face.


	13. Chapter 13

He calls her after her first day of work. He remembers.

She's excited, nervous, manic. "I think it went it went well, I don't know," she speaks quickly. "I can't even remember half the people I met. It was like a blur. But I did – they did take me and the other new staffers to see the Governor, which was . . . pretty great. I'm not sure if I'll ever actually see him again," she laughs.

"That's nice," Tim says kindly. "That's real nice."

"And they gave me a Blackberry."

"That's . . . great," Tim says.

A moment of silence hangs between them.

"How are you?" she finally asks.

"I'm okay," Tim says quickly. "I'm good."

"How was the game on Friday? I saw that y'all won."

"We did," Tim replies. "It was . . . good."

"Great – that's great," Lyla says.

There is another moment of silence. They're only four hours apart, but today, right now, it feels like worlds.

"Are you really okay, Tim?" she asks again.

"Yeah," Tim says immediately. "Yes."

She pauses. "I . . . miss you." Her words are halting, uncertain. As if she's not sure she should be saying them.

"Yeah," he says quickly.

He hears her sigh on the other end of the telephone. Finally, she speaks again. "I should –" she stammers, "I should go. I'm exhausted . . . . I need to – need to change. Go for a run."

"Sure," Tim says. "Right. Okay."

"Thanks for . . . thanks for calling, Tim. For – for remembering."

"Yeah," Tim says. "I'll talk to you later."

"Soon," Lyla replies.

"Right. Soon." Tim closes his phone and holds it to his face, feeling its coolness against his closed eyes. He can already see the writing on the wall. Just like at Vanderbilt. Those first phone calls were the worst – the awkward conversations about what each one of them was doing . . . away from each other. He hated those phone calls. Eventually, he'd just stopped calling. Stopped returning her calls. Disappeared. Came home.

He figures it's only a matter of time.

He tosses the phone back on the couch and reaches for another beer.


	14. Chapter 14

Lyla pulls her suit jacket tightly around her as she ambles home. It's pretty cold for a November afternoon. But she loves this weather. The fall. It reminds her of football. Family. Home.

She sighs when she hears the buzzing of her Blackberry as she approaches her apartment building. She pulls the device from her bag and buries her head in her email, pausing only to pull open the door to her building, and wave at the doorman - her favorite doorman, James, who's always on duty when she comes home - before tossing the Blackberry back into her bag. Friday afternoon email from the chief? It'll keep. At least until after happy hour. She checks her watch, wondering if she can catch Sara before she takes off for the bar.

When her name rings out in the lobby, she almost doesn't hear it - she's mentally balancing wardrobe choices for this evening with hanging questions about the policy meeting she just walked out of and whether she wants to walk or cab to the bar and whether Sara will be mooning over the guy she slept with three nights ago who hasn't yet called her.

"Lyla!" There it is again. Lyla is startled - she recognizes the voice, but can't quite place it. She turns toward the couch in the lobby, where Billy Riggins - Billy Riggins? - is waving at her furiously.

"Billy?" Lyla's jaw drops. "What are you - what are you doing here?" She heads toward him, clearly stunned.

"Waiting for you," Billy replies impatiently, rising from the couch. "I've been here for two hours, and that guy over there wouldn't even let me up. What the hell?"

"That's his job, Billy," Lyla raises an eyebrow. "He's the doorman. He's not supposed to just let people -" she cuts herself off and shakes her head. "What are you doing here?" she repeats.

"Nice to see you, too, Garrity," Billy says.

"Is Tim here?" Lyla asks. Hopefully.

"No, Tim actually doesn't – he doesn't know I'm here."

"Oh," Lyla is deflated. She's spent the last two months trying her hardest not to think about Tim – the fact that he isn't calling her anymore, that he doesn't seem to have much to say when she calls him, that she misses him, misses his voice, his smile, everything about him – but it's particularly hard not think about him – them – when his brother is standing in her lobby. "I don't understand," she finally says. "What – what are you doing here?"

"Can you please me invite me up to your place? I've driven for four hours to get here, and I could really use a beer."

Lyla shakes her head. Billy Riggins. Same old, same old. "Come on up," she gestures to him, and heads to the elevators.

"Nice digs," Billy calls behind her.

"Thanks," she replies dryly. She presses the elevator door button, which immediately opens for her. She holds it open for Billy.

"What's with the suit?" he asks her as the doors close and the elevator starts to move rapidly up to her floor.

Lyla narrows her eyes. "I have a job, Billy," she snaps. "What do you think is with the suit?"

"I dunno," Billy shrugs. "I have a job, too, I just don't go around all day wearing suits," he mutters.

Lyla sighs. She doesn't respond. When the elevator doors open on the 12th floor, she walks briskly to her apartment, with Billy following behind her.

"Come on in," Lyla says, unlocking her door and dropping her keys onto a table in her entryway.

"Nice," Billy says appreciatively, looking around. "Real nice," he adds.

"I don't have beer," Lyla calls back to Billy as she heads to the kitchen.

"You don't have beer?" Billy looks incredulous. "Are you joking?"

"I have wine. And . . ." she buries her head in a cabinet. "Vodka, rum . . . gin."

"How about whiskey? Do you have whiskey?"

"I don't have whiskey, Billy."

"Fine," he shrugs. "Vodka, please."

Lyla pulls the bottle of Stoli out of her cabinet and pours him a glass over ice. She hands it to him wordlessly.

"Should store that in the freezer, yunno," Billy says, accepting the glass and wandering over to her living room, running his hand over various knick-knacks and picture frames.

He pauses at an old picture of Tim and Lyla. Tim is wearing his Dillon Panthers uniform, boldly emblazoned with the number 33. He's sweaty, disheveled, with a half-smile on his face – clearly in post-victory bliss. His arm is around Lyla; she is kissing his cheek. Laughing. They look happy. In love.

"Thanks for the tip," Lyla replies dryly. She pours herself a glass and joins him in the living room. "So I have plans tonight . . ." she trails off. "Are you just popping in for a visit here?" She pulls off her suit jacket and sits down on the sofa.

"Love the flatscreen," Billy sits down in an arm chair next to the sofa.

"Billy," Lyla says impatiently. "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah," Billy tears his eyes away from the hanging television set and looks back at Lyla.

"Right. I'm here to talk to you."

"About . . . .?"

"About what do you think?" Billy narrows his eyes.

"Is Tim okay?" Lyla asks quickly, her brow furrowing in concern.

"He's not lying in a ditch or anything," Billy leans back into his chair.

"And he doesn't know you're here . . . .?" Lyla watches him curiously, waiting for Billy to fill her in on what the hell is going on.

"Nope. No one does. I mean," he raises an eyebrow, "You're not exactly popular in my household right now - my sister-in-law hates you. And my wife - well, you know how Mindy is - if Tyra hates you, Mindy hates you. So I figured it was best not to say anything."

"So why -are- you here, then?" Lyla sighs.

"It's like a mission of . . . what are those called? A mission of mercy."

"What are you talking about, Billy?" Lyla sighs again. This is getting really annoying.

"Garrity," Billy sighs, "I'm here on Timmy's behalf. My little brother, Tim. Remember him? Your old boyfriend? The guy in that picture over there?"

"Billy, of course I - what are you - I don't even know how to respond to that," she snaps. "What are you suggesting here?"

"I'm suggesting, Lyla, that Tim is miserable without you," Billy says. "He's . . . he's fucking miserable."

"He doesn't want to talk to me, Billy," Lyla looks away. "I call him, and he doesn't . . . ." she trails off.

"You messed with his head, Lyla. You shouldn't have come back to town this summer if you were just gonna mess with his head and . . . take off again."

"Is that what you think? Is that what you think I did?" Lyla asks. Her eyes are wide. Incredulous.

"Yeah, that is what I think you did. I know that Tim - I know that he wanted to come here with you, Garrity. I also know that you turned him down."

"Do you have any idea why I turned him down?" Lyla narrows her eyes. "I mean, seriously, Billy, why is it - why are you getting involved in this? You have no - you have no idea what you're talking about," she says. Defensively.

"Lyla, cut the mightier-than-thou bull shit with me, okay?" Billy takes a swig of the vodka. "I know you," he says plainly. "I also know my little brother. I know that he loves you and wants to be with you. I also know that you claim to love him, but yet, you're here, in your . . . fancy apartment with your flatscreen TV and your suits," he splutters, "while he's back home, missing you."

"My fancy apartment and my . . . suits?" Lyla raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"See, this is what I'm talking about. You just - you can't even let me - you just get all obnoxious."

"I'm obnoxious?" Lyla snaps. "I'm obnoxious? You walk into my apartment, make fun of me, and imply that I don't give two shits about Tim. And I'm the obnoxious one," Lyla smirks. "This just . . . I don't even have the words for -"

"Garrity, cut the crap. I don't give a shit what you think about me. I'm not tryin' to date you. But Timmy? He loves you. For some insane reason, he is completely, ridiculously in love with you. That kid has spent half his life chasing you, and you just keep . . . ." he trails off, shaking his head in frustration.

"You have no clue what's going on with us, Billy; you don't understand what's -"

"I don't understand?" Billy interrupts her. "Who do you think you're talking to here, Lyla? I understand everything - I've been here for everything. For -everything,-" Billy slams his glass down on the coffee table in frustration; Lyla jumps slightly. "I was here when he . . . when he got punched out by his -best friend- for you, because of you - remember that? And when he got his truck windows bashed in by his teammates? And how about when he protected you – from everyone – when you lost every superficial cheerleader friend you had. Remember that? How about when your dad - your drunk-ass dad - made a fool out of himself in front of everyone after your mom left him - who carried his ass home?"

Lyla looks away from Billy. She chews on her lip. Silently.

"You treated him like some -mistake- you made, and he was loyal to you anyway. When your dad trashed your college fund – remember that? He took you in – took you into our house, our family. He loved you. He took care of you. I mean, that kid has – he's stopped drinking for you, he's gone to church for you, dragged -me- to church for you. He even went to college for you - okay, so it didn't last - but he did it for -you.- To be better for you, to be someone that was -worthy- of you," he spits out. "I know he's not perfect, I know he's made mistakes, I get that y'all have your differences. But he loves you. He loves you like he's never loved anyone. Enough to give up -" he's interrupted by a ringing phone; they both ignore it. "To give up everything," Billy continues angrily. "After -four years- . . . even though you abandoned him - he still loved you enough to come to Austin for you. And you . . . said no?" Billy shakes his head in wonderment. "And now you wonder why he doesn't want to shoot the shit on the phone? I don't get it, Lyla. Do you love him or not?"

Lyla swallows. Hard. "I do," she says quietly. "I love him. But - you don't understand; you don't . . . ."

"Don't, Garrity. I know my brother. I know what's gone down between you, how he feels about you. I know that if you said the word, he'd be here tomorrow morning."

"I wanted . . . I wanted to give him the chance to . . . ." she trails off, shaking her head. She's so uncertain of everything now. She did the right thing, didn't she? She did it for him. For both of them. Why can't Billy see that?

"Yeah, right," Billy says dismissively. "However you're justifying this to yourself, I think it's crap. It's crap that you gave him hope again just to leave him with a gaping fucking hole in his heart. Again. It's crap that you didn't show up for -four years-, that you couldn't even be bothered to visit the guy you claimed to love so fucking much in prison. It's crap that he's always been there for you, -always- been there for you when you needed him, and that you weren't there for him when he needed you most. That you aren't there for him right now. It's crap, Lyla."

Lyla stares at Billy silently for a minute. "I -" she starts and stops. "I - I do love him, Billy. You have to know that, right? You know that, right?" she asks. Desperately. "I thought I was . . . I thought I was doing the right thing - what he - I thought - his house, his . . . land, his . . . ." she trails off.

"Fuck his house and his land," Billy says angrily. "Do you want him or don't you? 'Cause if you do, get off your fucking ass and go get him. And if you don't, stop with the noble 'I'm doing it for him' shit 'cause you're not doin' it for anyone but yourself."

Lyla is stunned. She can't speak. The phone is ringing again. She gets up slowly and picks it up. It's Sara. "I can't right now," she says quietly. Her voice is shaking. "I'm not coming. Can you . . . yeah, just . . . I'm fine. Just go without me, please." She pauses and replaces the phone. She stands there, with her back to Billy for another moment, trying to regain her composure.

Finally, she turns around to face him. "Do you . . . do you want me in his life, Billy?" she shakes her head. "It seems like you . . . like you hate me."

"I don't hate you, Lyla," Billy says. "I hate that you broke Timmy's heart. But I don't hate you. I think you . . . I think you were - to be honest - I think you were actually pretty great for Tim. When you were with him. He never . . . never gave a shit about anything before you. You know?" he smiles. Sadly. "He never - I mean, we didn't have parents, yunno? I did the best that I could . . . ." he trails off.

"I know you did," she says quietly.

"With you," Billy shakes his head, "With you, he actually started to . . . give a shit about himself, you know? He just . . . I mean, you and I both know he was always popular. Too popular," he smiles sadly, "He didn't . . . give a shit about anything. Drinking, football, all the rally girls - it was all . . . it was all a way to pass the time, to not have to try at something, not have to worry about failing. When he fell in love with you, he - I dunno - he started to care. You expected things from him. Big things. And he . . . he wanted to live up to that. For the first time. That's something. That means a lot."

Lyla nods. She bites her lip, trying to keep herself from tearing up. "I loved him. So much," she whispers.

"I know," Billy says. "I know that. I know you did. Do you still? After - after everything that's happened?"

"Yes, Billy," Lyla says. "This isn't about . . . that."

"No?" Billy raises an eyebrow. "Not even just a little bit? I mean, Tim is about as far from Bryan whatever-his-name-was as you can get."

Lyla sighs. "You're wrong, Billy. About me. About what I want. Who I am."

"You don't care that Tim went to prison?"

"Of course I care," Lyla replies shortly. "-Of course- I care. I'm - it makes me angry. It makes me furious. And sad. That he - that he threw away his - what could have been his future . . . for what? Some land?" Lyla sighs. "But that's not who he is . . . . Stepping up for you, for your family," she looks up at Billy, "that's who he is."

"You know," Billy says slowly. Matter-of-factly. He looks away.

Lyla bites her lip. She nods. "I don't . . . look, I'm in no position to pass judgment here. I've done plenty of things in life – and thanks for reminding me some of them," she smiles wryly, "that I'm not proud of." She pauses. She looks down at her hands and plays with a ring on her finger.

"You know," she starts to say something, then hesitates; Billy looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue - "Tim and I - we fell apart the moment he left San Antonio State. When we said goodbye - when I came home that last time . . . freshman year . . . I really thought that was it, you know? I didn't want . . . I don't know," she breaks off, shaking her head. "I didn't see a way for us. To make it," she looks back up at him.

Billy hangs his head, nodding.

"The chop shop, prison, everything . . . everything after that, it was just . . . ." she trails off again, shaking her head. "He did what he needed to do for you, Billy. He's Tim. He's the most loyal person I've ever known," she says quietly. "Please don't think I've forgotten that. Or need to be reminded why I fell in love with him. Why I love him now . . . . And I do," she looks back at him. "I do love him, Billy."

Billy looks at her. His expression has softened. "I can't believe we're sitting here trying to figure out Tim's life for him. Still," he says quietly.

Lyla smiles and shakes her head. "I can't believe we're still fighting about it."

Billy laughs. "Tell me about it."

They sit in silence for a minute.

Finally, Billy rises. "I should go, Garrity. I've said what I came here to say, and . . . Mindy's gonna flip if I don't get my ass home - real quick. Or as quick as I can make a four-hour trip that she doesn't know about," he says.

"Right," Lyla nods. "Of course." She gets up, too, following him to the door. "I um - thank you, Billy. Thanks for . . . coming. To talk to me, I mean, I know it couldn't have been easy."

"Thanks for listening," Billy says. "Probably wasn't any easier," he says quietly, sticking his hands in his pockets. He hesitates, unsure of what to do. Finally, he gives Lyla an awkward hug. More of a quick back pat than a hug. But it's a start.

"Goodbye, Lyla," he says as Lyla opens the door for him.

"Take care, Billy," Lyla says, watching him walk to the elevator.

She closes the door behind him and stands there for a moment, leaning against the door. She looks around - at the glasses on the coffee table, her suit jacket discarded against the sofa.

She sighs, wandering back over to the living room, and sinking back down onto the sofa. She puts her head in her hands.

She stays that way for what seems like hours, just sitting there, listening to the noise of a busy Friday night in Austin. The life that's going on outside her windows. Blackberry messages, happy hours, dinners. Not a single high school football game worthy of shutting down an entire town. Devil Town. The place she's from. Her home.

Finally, she gets up and heads to her bedroom. She pulls an overnight bag out of her closet and goes to work. It takes her only a few minutes to throw together a sloppily-packed bag - a record, Tim would be proud - and to race out the door, down to her parking garage.

When she pulls out of her garage, she weaves through heavy downtown Austin traffic, following signs to the highway. Out of Austin. West. She knows this road well. The road home.


	15. Chapter 15

When she knocks on his door, she's not uncertain anymore. It's not like it was four months ago - or four years ago. Her knock is firm. Like she belongs here. Like she's here to claim what's hers.

When he opens the door, he looks sleepy. Bleary-eyed. Of course. He's beautiful. Even in the middle of the night, when she's clearly woken him up, he's beautiful. If this were the old days – his playing days – he wouldn't be asleep yet. He probably wouldn't even be home yet. But he's a grown-up now – a coach, right? – 3 a.m. on game night, and he's at home. Alone. Making room for the next generation of Tim Rigginses, who are probably partying at someone's house right now, bragging about the touchdowns they scored, getting drunk, and – most assuredly – getting laid.

Lyla smiles at him. Warmly. Tim rubs his eyes and smiles back at her. She doesn't ask him if he's alone. If he's surprised to see her. She doesn't ask him to put on clothes. She doesn't ask him anything at all. She just steps inside and throws her arms around him. He holds her tightly, wordlessly, burying his face in her neck. They stand that way for several minutes. They don't speak – they don't need to.

She follows him to the bedroom, peels off her clothes, and climbs into his bed with him. He puts his arms around her and pulls her close. She buries her head against his bare chest. His skin is warm, soft. She listens to his heart beating. It's calm, peaceful, steady. She feels his hot breath against her hair, kissing her head. She closes her eyes.

When she falls asleep, securely in his arms, she feels at peace. Hopeful. Happy. Like she has everything she needs, everything she wants. For the first time in ages.


	16. Chapter 16

"Billy - seriously, move over - you're doing it wrong."

"No, I'm not, you jackass, you're just in my way. If you get out of my damn way, I'll do it myself." Billy gives Tim a shove.

"Watch it, Billy - you're gonna shove me off the damn roof. Who the hell's gonna help you hang lights if I'm not around?"

"Someone capable, I hope."

"Yeah, this from a guy who once nailed his hand to a frigging wall," Tim rolls his eyes and starts climbing back down the ladder.

"That was once, jackass, once!" Billy shouts down to him from the roof. "Turn the damn switch now - I think I've got it."

"Hey, keep it down, y'all," Tyra Collette emerges from inside of the Riggins house with a hand on her hip. "I mean seriously, you do know your kids are in there, right Billy?" she snaps. "Enough with the yelling."

"Sorry, sorry," Billy mutters. "It's just - he doesn't know what he's doing, and he's up here on the roof trying to -"

"I don't care what you boys are doing," Tyra rolls her eyes. "Just keep it down. And Mindy sent me out here to tell y'all to come in for dinner."

"We're almost done, tell her we're almost done," Billy responds. "Switch it, Tim!" he yells.

Tim flips the switch; a bright swath of Christmas lights shine from the rooftop.

"Yes!" Billy calls triumphantly. "We did it!" he climbs down off the ladder. "You see that, Tyra? Now, -that- is how it's done."

Tyra raises an eyebrow and smiles. Sweetly. "Might've been nicer if it'd been done before Christmas Eve."

"Hey," Billy replies. "I don't see Santa and his sleigh yet. So pipe down."

Tyra grins and smacks him. "Seriously, boys. Inside," she directs them sternly. Billy scurries into the house ahead of Tyra.

"Merry Christmas, Tyra," Tim grins at her as he follows her into the house, closing the door behind him.

"Yeah, yeah," she replies. "Just don't sit too close to me at dinner or I may stab you with my fork."

"Aren't you supposed to, like, put aside grievances on Christmas?," Tim grins. "I would say that stabbing someone with some kind of . . . cutlery . . . is downright un-Christian on any day of the year, but especially on Christmas."

"It's Christmas -Eve-, jackass," Tyra raises an eyebrow. "Tomorrow I'll be nice," she grins as she saunters away from him.

Tim laughs and shakes his head. He wipes the dust from his hands off on his pants and looks around the room. His eyes stop – and he breaks into an adoring smile, he can't help himself – when he sees her. She's sitting on the Riggins' living room sofa with a glass of wine in her hand, chatting with her father. She looks up and catches his eye, smiling back at him warmly, before turning back to Buddy Garrity . . . .

"Lyla, hon, I mean, I'm just sayin', if Tim's gonna be there already – I mean, who's to say he can't make some connections at the college level? Because that's where the action is, you know?"

"Dad, let me get this straight – Tim hasn't even started the new job yet, but you want him to start feeling out connections so that you can get into some . . . special suite at Texas Memorial Stadium?" Lyla smiles and shakes her head in disbelief.

"Honey, it's not just a special suite. It's the -boosters- suite."

"Whatever it is, Dad, not sure Tim's going to be doing you any favors any time soon," Lyla rolls her eyes.

"Now, honey, that's all just water under the bridge right there. We've had a man-to-man about all of that old stuff. Settled things. We're good, honey, we're good," Buddy waves a hand dismissively.

Lyla raises an eyebrow.

"Seriously," Buddy says emphatically. He smiles at his daughter.

"A man-to-man, eh?" Lyla asks. Her eyes are twinkling.

"Well, you know, honey, your daddy is human – I make mistakes. But I know when I'm wrong. And I know how to apologize."

"Mhmm," Lyla smiles incredulously.

"And, aside from that one, albeit minor, transgression, I've welcomed Tim with open arms into this family and –"

"With open arms, eh?" Lyla laughs. "Kicking and screaming, more like it."

"Well, Lyla, he doesn't have a hedge fund," Buddy smiles.

"Dad –"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he smiles at his daughter. "Look, Lyla, I know Tim loves you. And I know he's a good man. I'm gettin' with the program, honey; it might be late – a few years late – but I'm gettin' there. That's gotta count for somethin', right?" Buddy raises his eyebrows hopefully.

"Yes, Dad, it does," Lyla replies, smiling at him.

"So, all I'm saying, honey, is, if Tim Riggins and I are gonna be – well, like family now – then there should be some perks there, right? Perks like, maybe, getting some great tickets to Longhorns games? Really, Lyla, I just want to make sure that I'm taking full advantage of the -lifestyle- which a place like Austin affords."

Lyla raises an eyebrow and laughs. She takes a sip of wine. "You realize that, when most people think of 'the lifestyle which a place like Austin affords,' they're not thinking about football, right?"

"Well, honey, I hate it to break it you, but you happen to be the daughter of a Dillon Panther and the girlfriend of a Dillon Panther, who also happens to be a football coach now. Really, I think you just need to get used to football as a priority in life, honey, wherever you are. And the one silver linin' to this whole Tim Riggins thing, I suppose, is the hope that, one day, I'll have me some football-playing grandbabies. I -will- give partial credit to Tim Riggins for -those- genes." . . . .

Tim finally tears his eyes away from Lyla and Buddy Garrity and looks over at Mindy and Angela Collette, who are finishing up dinner preparations and moving things to the dining room table. Tim grins as he watches Billy try to put his finger in the mashed potatoes . . . .

"Seriously, Billy, get your hand out of there, or I'm going to ban you from the kitchen altogether," Mindy swats Billy's hand away.

"Okay, okay," Billy says, patting Mindy's bottom, "okay, can I at least get a couple beers?"

"Are the lights up?"

"The lights are up."

"Get the beers and go," Mindy smiles at him, shaking her head . . . .

Tim's eyes move from Mindy and Billy to Tyra, who has joined the twins in a game of peek-a-boo by the Christmas tree, while Stevie runs around the tree, loudly counting presents . . . .

"Hey, Stevie, Dan brought you something, too," Tyra calls out to him. She squeezes the hand of the guy sitting next to her – her new friend, boyfriend?

Tim doesn't really know what Tyra's calling him these days, but the recent arrival of Dan – another new teacher at Dillon High – into Tyra's life has ushered in at least a partial melting of the up-till-now frosty relations between Tim and Tyra. Tim thinks that she still hates him, but not quite as much as she used to. Which is something. And if Dan sticks around long enough, Tyra might even downgrade the level of cutlery with which she threatens him. Either that or he'll be far enough away in Austin that it won't matter.

"What did you bring me?" Stevie is clearly enthused by the prospect of another gift-giver.

"You've gotta wait until tomorrow morning, buddy," Dan winks at Stevie. "It'll be awesome, though, I promise."

"It will be," Tyra nods at Stevie and smiles back at Dan. He puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it . . . .

Tim smiles once more as he watches Stevie tear around the Christmas tree, before finally turning back toward Lyla. He walks over to her and her father, and sits down next to her. She immediately takes his hand into hers.

"Hi, Mr. Garrity," Tim says.

"Tim Riggins - what are your thoughts on Longhorn football, son?"

Tim and Lyla exchange amused smiles. "I haven't given it much thought, Mr. Garrity," Tim replies.

"I was just talkin' to Lyla here about you maybe usin' some of that Tim Riggins charm to get us into one of them booster suites over there at Texas Memorial Stadium."

"Mr. Garrity, I'm going to Austin to coach high school football, sir."

"I know that, Tim," Buddy smiles impatiently. "But football is football, and connections, community – that's the lifeblood of football, son. You know that. You're a Panther. Always will be."

"Right," Tim nods in mock seriousness.

"Besides," Buddy continues. "How do you know where you'll be a year or two from now? This could be good for both of us, Tim. You keepin' your college coachin' options open, me keepin' my booster options open. We could be a really great team here, son."

"Right, Mr. Garrity," Tim says. "I'll give that some serious thought." He grins at Lyla and puts an arm around her, pulling her close to him. She smiles and leans her head against his chest.

When Mindy finally calls everyone to the table, Tim guides Lyla to her seat. Buddy has finagled a spot next to Angela Collette - of course. The room is crowded, loud, and hot; the food is plentiful. Really, it's a pretty perfect Christmas, Tim thinks, looking at Lyla, who is sitting next to him and smiling at something Stevie is doing. Pretty damn perfect.

As dinner winds down, Billy finally gets everyone's attention, hitting a knife against his beer bottle several times. "Okay, okay," he calls over the din of the room, "I want to - I want to do a toast. Make a toast," he corrects himself. "Hey, everyone! . . . . Hi. Thank you." Billy rises from his chair. "I just want to -" he stops, looking around the table.

Stevie sits next to him, yawning. Mindy watches him, a smile playing on her lips, as she tousles one of the twin's hair; Tyra holds the other twin on her lap, while holding Dan's hand. Angela sits on the other side of the table, smiling up at Billy, her eyes shining. Buddy's cheeks are flushed with excitement as he tears his eyes away from Angela to listen to Billy. Tim sits with his arm around Lyla; he pulls her close to him as he turns his attention to Billy.

"I want to thank y'all for coming here," Billy says. "Tonight. For spending Christmas with me and my family here," he smiles at Mindy and the kids. "I learned a long time ago that family isn't what what you're born into. It's who you choose. Timmy and I - we had a tough go of things," he looks at Tim, who's watching him intently. "And we had to make our own way from pretty early on in life. There were a lot of people that helped us do it. Some of those people are here with us tonight," he smiles at Mindy and at Lyla. "Some aren't . . . . I, for one, am real grateful that we're celebrating Christmas tonight with people we love, and who love us . . . . And we have something pretty damn special to celebrate here tonight," he looks at Tim and pauses.

"Timmy," Billy smiles, his eyes shining, "You are - you are my little brother, and you are also my hero. Four years ago you did something for me and my family here that - that we'll never be able to repay you for. That we will be eternally grateful to you for." He pauses and swallows. Tim is smiling back at him.

"I just - to see how you've changed - grown - since then, it's been a privilege to watch that. And now –" he grins, "now you and the little miss here - the one who's been harassing me about your future for what seems like half your life - hell, half my life," he laughs and winks at Lyla, who is smiling and resting her head against Tim, "are starting one together. For real. A new city. A new job. Coach Riggins," he smiles proudly at Tim. "Also, almost as important, a very nice flatscreen TV - I've seen the apartment," he grins at Tim and Lyla, who are laughing. "Y'all have something real incredible right here. The relationship, not the flatscreen, although the flatscreen's somethin' pretty special, too." He pauses, his expression growing serious.

"So, here's to Timmy and Lyla," he raises a glass, "together again, true love and all that crap - but really, if you've seen them together and have known them for as long as I have, you know that this right here is the real deal. Which is good, since, really, the only people they've ever been faithful to is each other," he laughs. "And I -am- using that one at the wedding," he winks at Tim, who is grinning and shaking his head. "So don't even try to go and make Jason Street your best man," he raises a fist, "I will kick his ass, you know I will," he grins. "Or he'll kick mine," he adds, shrugging and grinning at Tim, who's raised his eyebrows and is nodding in amused agreement at the latter admission.

"Anyway," Billy continues, "the fact that you are so damn happy is pretty much the only reason I'm not hog-tying you to the house here to keep you from leaving." He smiles at Tim again. Seriously. Emotionally. Tim and Lyla look at each other - happily - and look back at Billy.

"So, Timmy, here's to you, little brother," he raises a glass, "I am so damn proud of you, you can't even imagine. I love you, man," he nods at Tim, who smiles back at him, raising his own glass. "And," Billy adds, looking around the table, "here's to this family. This pretty damn incredible family. Merry Christmas, y'all. Merry Christmas."


End file.
